


In Your Hands

by xxTwasADreamxx



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bit of Fluff, M/M, bit of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxTwasADreamxx/pseuds/xxTwasADreamxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's life was divided into before and afters-before his mother left and after, before he kissed Davy Swillows behind the bleachers and after, before Hannibal and after. </p><p>Before Muskrat Farm, and after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Just another Hannibal fic, although my first m/m one I think. I mean, come on, those two after Digestivo-who could resist? 
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, because if it did, you know there'd be more sex.

_In Your Hands_

**Part I.**

         Will’s life was divided into before and afters-before his mother left and after, before he kissed Davy Swillows behind the bleachers and after, before Hannibal and after. This was just another before and after to add to a list of awakenings and regrets.

         Before Muskrat Farm, and after.

         ...

         Cordell doesn’t get very far before Hannibal finds him.

         Barely cuts into Will’s face, in fact, although the pain still lances through him like fire, hot and spreading fast. But then there Hannibal is; like some avenging angel, barefoot and bloodied. He looks...magnificently debauched. Real. Hair hangs in his eyes, strands clotted with red, and a dirt covered coat covers his broad shoulders like it is about to split at the seams.

         He is Will’s angel, at least. For Cordell he is death with a wooden hammer. Hannibal glances at Will only once, all smiles, teeth bloody.

         “Hello, Will. I’ll get to you in a second. Let me just take care of our friend here,” Hannibal lets the words roll out amiably over his tongue, and starts hacking at Cordell.

         He doesn’t do it quickly, either. Will is just starting to feel his toes twitch, press his tongue against his mouth to let out what sounds like a hiss of Hannibal’s name when Lecter finishes, cutting off the thin skin of Cordell’s face.

         “Yes, Will?” Hannibal replies without looking up, fully intent on his work.

         “Did you kill them?” Will manages to spit out, slowly letting his pinky scratch the polyester sheets underneath his body.

         Hannibal knows he means Alana and Margot. Hannibal always knows what Will means.

         “Not yet,” Hannibal replies, finally letting the knife clatter to the floor and standing, stalking to Will.

         Will suddenly feels very, very small.

         Hannibal leans close enough that his breath, warm and smelling like iron, ghosts its way over Will’s lips and cheek.

         “Do you really care?”

         And Will finds he doesn’t.

         “Are you going to kill me, now?” Will manages, his own breath intermingling with Hannibal’s between the minuscule space that separates their bodies.

         Will almost welcomes it. Almost.

         Hannibal pulls back and a frown wrinkles his forehead as he stares down at Will with those maroon tinged black eyes, all knowing, that had once seemed warm and inviting.

         Before realizing that Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper, but not after.

         “No,” Hannibal says, and the words ring true, just like the bemused expression on Lecter’s own face does. Like he’s confused about why he wouldn’t murder Will, now that he has the chance.

         “Why not?” Will asks, and he is almost desperate now. Desperate to know Hannibal, yet at the same time desperate to cut the ties that bind them.

         “Because...because I cannot imagine a world without you,” Hannibal says finally, and it sounds almost romantic. Maybe if Hannibal hadn’t been cutting into Will’s head with a bone saw just the day before, it would have been.

         “I can imagine a world without you,” Will growls, voice scratching at the sides of his throat.

         And he can. A world in which Will Graham is normal, and Hannibal Lecter is long gone. A world in which Will is terribly, miserably lonely. It is not a nice picture.

         _Cut ties, cut ties, cut ties_ , Will repeats in his head.

         Hannibal pauses, eyes raking over Will’s face, familiar. Hannibal has always been so familiar.

         Then slams his lips onto Will’s.

         The kiss is harsh, bruising. Hannibal’s lips press against Will’s own like they’re trying to possess him, teeth clashing together when Will finally feels his heart start beating again and opens his mouth. Hannibal’s tongue pushes past his lips, tasting, exploring, dominating, and Will feels...Will feels complete.

         And half hard in his jeans and slightly nauseous, because it finally registers in his brain that _Hannibal Lecter is kissing him_.

         Will wrenches away weakly, drugs that Cordell gave him still worming their sluggish way through his system. Hannibal’s teeth scrape his cheek, and his tongue comes out to lick and mouth at Will’s skin there, slightly rough from stubble. Will has to close his eyes against the onslaught of pure lust, pure want, that races through his stomach, warm and needy until it reaches his cock.

         “Stop,” he whispers, and Hannibal does, although he presses one last wetly hard kiss to Will’s jaw.

         “Will,” Hannibal says his name like he’s completely calm, although Will can hear the slightly roughened husk of his tone trying to claw its way out.

         Will closes his eyes and shudders.

         “Hannibal.”

         Hannibal pulls away and goes to grab something from the table besides him. Will can’t see what, eyes still closed against the onslaught of thoughts that try to punch their way out of his walls.

         And then Will feels a needle press itself into his arm, and his eyes fly open and his mouth gapes in a soundless cry and he is gone.

 

**Part II.**

         Will wakes slowly. The golden light of dawn is filtering through his windows, bathing the space of rumpled blue sheets in front of him in a soft glow. This is the first thing he registers. The next is that he is not in so much pain anymore, and then the rest of the night and past few days comes crashing back into his head.

         He sits with a jerk, eyes roaming his bedroom in Wolf Trap. They finally alight on Hannibal, sitting in a chair at the foot of his bed, legs crossed and fingers twined cleanly together. He is washed of any blood that had coated him earlier.

         And his eyes are fixed firmly on Will.

         “How long?” Will finally asks, and he isn’t sure if he’s asking how long he’s been out, or how long Hannibal has wanted to fuck him. If he even did.

         “A few hours. I had to stitch your wounds,” Hannibal explains, smiling lightly. “And since you shot Garret Jacob Hobbs. Maybe before.”

         Will tries to talk past the sudden lump that forms like something akin to desire in his throat. Closes his eyes to reign his traitorous body back in.

         “If you run, I won’t come after you,” Will says after what seems like long minutes, opening his eyes to a still perfectly poised Lecter.

         Hannibal doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move a muscle.

         “I won’t try to find you. I won’t-think about you,” Will’s tongue stumbles a little over the lie.

         Hannibal stays still, as if waiting.

         “You’re bad for me,” Will whispers after a few silent moments. “I thought-you’ve changed me, and I can’t do anything about it. But I can stop you from changing me more.”

         “You’re not the only one who’s been changed, Will,” Hannibal finally says, unfolding his hands and pressing them to his thighs.

         Will swallows. “I know.”

         Hannibal is up in seconds, crawling onto the bed on all fours, up towards Will. Some may have found the position submissive, but Will thought of it more like a predator finally catching its prey, savoring the moments before it makes the kill.

         He surrounds Will’s body like a cage, legs straddling Will’s and hands pressing into the edge of his arms. Will can barely breathe.

         Hannibal leans close, just like he did at Muskrat Farm. Whispers the words across Will’s skin: “I will always find you.”

         And Will has to stop any more nonsense from leaving the cannibal’s mouth, so he presses forward and kisses him.

         Hannibal makes a sound akin to a growl, and suddenly Will’s hair is tangled in his hands and his neck is being tilted back almost painfully as Hannibal wrenches his lips from Will’s and moves them to mouth along his neck.

         Will gasps out something that might be a ‘please’ or a strangled ‘Hannibal’; it doesn’t really matter at that point, because then his hands are sliding up Hannibal’s chest and balling themselves into fists on his shirt, and he is bucking up into Hannibal’s body, moaning when he finally rubs their hardening cocks together. Hannibal grunts, lets go of Will’s hair and brings his mouth up to his again.

         It is all teeth banging and tongues pushing and the wet slide of lips, but Will has never been harder, and he has never wanted anyone so much.

         He moves his hands down to Hannibal’s waist and hastily tugs his belt open, unbuttoning his pants and getting the zipper halfway down before he can’t take it anymore and slips his hands inside Hannibal’s boxers to clutch his lust warmed cock.

         Hannibal hisses out Will’s name, wrenches his mouth away from Will’s. Will’s hands leave Hannibal’s cock, heart crying at the loss as he reaches for his own jeans button and pushes his boxers down so that his cock springs up against his stomach. Hannibal’s hand wraps around him, pulls down once, hard. Then he is opening the buttons on Will’s flannel with steady fingers, and mouthing at Will’s nipple before biting down hard. Will cries out, arches his back.

         He brings a hand to Hannibal’s throat, wraps it around his skin and presses his thumb into Hannibal’s jugular.

         “Fuck me,” he utters.

         And Hannibal is on him like a wild thing, flipping him over and reaching for Will’s bedside table, grabbing a tube of lube that Will is supremely happy he bought on the off chance he’d ever bring someone home.

         Who knew it would end up being his therapist/best friend/serial killer/cannibal. All that mattered was that Hannibal was his.

         Hannibal squeezes some out onto his hand and pushes one finger into Will, then two. Will groans and squirms at the contact, pushing Hannibal’s digits in even deeper, and when Hannibal deems him properly prepared he is lining his cock up at Will’s entrance and pushing in, much slower than Will would have thought given their earlier activities. The moment stops, suspended in time, and it is all faint sunlight and dust mites and Hannibal, mouth pressed to his neck and licking long lines up his skin.

         Then he is moving and Will was right, when he imagined how Hannibal fucked, because of course he’d imagined it. Pretended it was Alana who looked up at him through long lashes, eyes flashing mischievously as her mouth slipped up his cock, but of course it was Hannibal. It was always Hannibal.

         And Hannibal fucked like a beast.

         Thrust into him hard, arm wrapping around Will’s stomach and adjusting his position so that Hannibal’s cock presses _just right there_ into his prostate, and Will swears and sees stars.

         “Will,” Hannibal gasps out, clutching at his errant curls to turn his head so they can kiss.

         Will whimpers, pressing up into Hannibal’s cock and his body as they cover him like a blanket, warm and soft and whole. And despite it all, despite the killing and the blood and the harshness in which Hannibal fucks him, Will Graham, for the first time in his life, feels safe.

         “Hannibal, please, fuck, fuck please,” Will babbles, as Hannibal holds his hair and his heart in gentle hands.

         Will squeezes around Hannibal’s cock, and Hannibal’s pace stutters as he snarls out a broken, “Fuck.”

         And that is all it takes, to hear Hannibal cursing. Something so unnatural, so _rude_ , coming out of the other man’s mouth because of Will, all because of Will. He comes like he’s dying, keening out Hannibal’s name and cursing him, cursing them both. With not even a touch to his cock.

         Hannibal comes right after, seed spilling into Will and breath coming out in sharp bursts as he slows. he rolls to the side but his arm still lies around Will’s chest, fingers slowly, lightly treading along his skin like whispers.

         They lie like that for a time in the warmth of the sun coming through Will’s windows, and when Will finally turns to face him, Hannibal’s eyes are half closed and sated like some large cat who’d just eaten his fill.

         He doesn’t say ‘I love you’, because it isn’t love that they have. It far surpasses it, in a way: it is wanting to crawl into each others skin until there are no secrets left, devour each others hearts whole, rake nails across the others skin until they leave permanent marks, permanent scars. They are one half of the others whole, and for Will it used to be clear; like a yin and yang sign, Will was alright with having a dot of black, a dot of darkness, because it meant Hannibal had a dot of good. But now everything is muddled and grey, and they are so mixed up in each other that Will cannot tell where he ends and Hannibal begins.

         Will leans in to nip at Hannibal’s jaw, just because he can, and a rumble steals its way through Hannibal’s chest like a purr.

         “The FBI will be here soon,” Will whispers against Hannibal’s throat, skin still warm and flushed.

         “I know,” Hannibal answers back, and then they are up and getting dressed, pushing the past moments behind, stealing them away for their memory palaces.

         As Hannibal readies to go he presses one last kiss upon Will’s lips, a little softer this time. Will leans into him for support, his anchor. Then Hannibal pulls back and leaves, and the door shutting behind him sounds like nothing but silence.

 

**Part III.**

         The moment Hannibal steps into Will’s house in Wolf Trap, muzzled and chained, Will is on him. The door has barely shut, guards leaving the two together with Will’s finger pressed over a button that, when pressed, will activate a high intensity volt to the collar strapped around Hannibal’s neck, than Will is tossing the button aside and unlocking his hand cuffs.

         Slowly, softly he unhooks the muzzle, but the kiss he gives Hannibal is not soft. It is desperation, satiation, weeks worth of seeing through glass but not touching. It is cases clogging Will’s mind that need to free themselves into Hannibal’s mouth, blood and gore and families screams that need to be fucked out of him.

         It is something close to love.

         Hannibal pushes his hand away, holds Will steady despite his whimpers and reaching for more, and smiles as he takes the other man in. Disheveled hair, even more mussed from Hannibal’s grabbing hands, and flannel slightly askew. He looks the same, like old Will. What they have between them, though, no matter how long it had been simmering, is new.

         “What lies did you tell Uncle Jack to get me here? Some unorthodox interrogation about the Magpie that couldn’t be done in an office in full sight of people?” Hannibal almost laughs, naming Will’s newest case.

         It has been almost five months since Hannibal gave himself over on that muggy night beside Will’s house, and Will has been able to come up with every excuse imaginable to get Hannibal unguarded and still locked up into his home, or a private room with no cameras and a door capable of being locked at the institution. Alana is wary, but Jack always ends up convincing her. It’s for a case, every time, after all.

         “Yes,” Will admits, leaning back up to kiss Hannibal. This time the man lets him.

         It’s almost a sigh on the wind, later, when they are lying half naked and sleepy in Will’s bed. A whisper that could have faded into the darkness of Wolf Trap’s night.

         “I missed you,” Will says, barely a breath.

         There is a pause and Will wonders, hopes, that maybe Hannibal didn’t hear. Maybe he’s sleeping.

            “I missed you, too, Will,” Hannibal finally replies, though, and Will’s heart swells and beats until the hands that hold it cup his head tenderly, and kiss him goodnight.


End file.
